Delft in half shadow reposes on water,
light and dark clouds sail overhead,
the sunlit New Church has an empty belfry,
the Old is dark where Vermeer lies buried;
both are reflected in Kolk Harbour's mirror
beside the patient herring barges,
waiting there at the gates of commerce
while passengers stand to take the ferry,
quietly sharing the city’s beauty.
And here Vermeer's immortalized sitters,
within windows half closed or standing open,
depicted working with rapt attention
the silent beauty of a girl stitching lace,
in changing light and shade and colour,
created her quiet breathing stillness,
treating textures, braid, cloth and curl,
flesh, wool or wood with equal care,
silvering even the air around her.
Then he depicts another girl’s graces
her mien sad and serious, a letter partly read,
her face entirely living, standing pensive
by a crumpled rug, a tilted Chinese bowl
with its fruit tumbled, a countenance pale
in the obscure window. Who sent the letter?
She wears the dress of the woman smiling
at the dark shape of a man in beaver hat,
there no longer. Poised not posed, she muses.
The letter hangs quiet in her hand..
the wall now empty, surface painted over,
it held too much and was too simple,
therefore must not speak. But watch:
the artistry of peace inscrutable,
hold back that curtain some while longer
see Delft once more in sunshine sing
adrift yet moored on harbour water..
Take the ferry. Enter here. Who knows?
The absent New Church bells may ring.
©Terry Hodgson2020
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